Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1887-03-27

NnlIItN MullCl W. NAN AA"AA'
not restrain her impatience. She walked
up and down the platform in the fog, she
shivered with cold, she, the warm FLOODED,
merry Shirley. Her knees trembled be-
meath her with weakness, but her will kept
her up. There is nothing so good as a
strong will. :.
Well, at last, in fifteen minuters it
would be train time. She looked at her
watch. 1t was very chilly. She disliked
to 70 back into the little waiting room. 1t
was full of giggling girls, Sinking youths
and stupid women. In the unhappy, IN
reasonable mind in which she was, how
she hated them
Nevertheless, she was chilled to the bone,
She turned to 90 inside, and came face to
face with Philip DumOray!
He had been to the cottage and had fol-
lowed on after her. His injured hand was
bound up and carried in a sling. His torn,
disordered clothing had been replaced by a
we'll made toilet. He would have been
neatly attired if he had dressed himsef for
the scatfold. There was dandy enough
about Philip Dumoray for that. His face
was still very pale, but firm and composed.
IlG lDOhCu lCplOdIblui oI 'hAiiNg
"Why did you 60 away when you knew
l wished to see you AGAIN."
'.Why did you come here after me when
you knew | did no wish to see your"
81 did not know it," he replied, simply.
''Then you ought to have known it.
You saved my life. l ought to thank you
for that, / suppose. But / don't. Life
will not be so sweet or pleasant to me here
after that | should cherish a desperate de-
sire to hang to it through thick and thin"
Shirley" said he, there is something
| have to tell you. 1t is a wretched story.
/ ask you to bear with me and listen to 1t. ="
81 don't wish to hear it," she answered,
coldly.
"But | must tell you," he said.
my train is coming" said Shirley.
''There it is at the curve. Good morning,
Mr.. DumOray."
AHe laid his unwounded hand upon her
arm, not very gently, if the truth must
he told. The gentle master was not IN q
gentle mood that morning:
"You shall not go until you hear me, "
he exclaimed. SHIRLEY, if you don't stop
PIP
''You Il what?" she retorted.
''Shirley, your father was my friend.
By the memory of your father, grant me
this one favor. 1t is the last request
may ever make of You"
The train stopped, gathered up its passen'
gers, and went on, and Shirley was not
among them. She led the way into the
railway waiting room.
well what is it you wish to say to
me?" she asked. Her manner was as in
different as if the last night had never been.
Il cannot tell you here" he said.
Here or not at ALL" she answered.
Don't ask me to 90 back tothat wretched
house"
80 be it then" he replied. He had
hoped-the Lord knows what he had
hoped. It was true all was over now, all
the possibilities he had dreamed of in that
brief, mad hour of the night before. Was
that a century ago, in some other state OF
existence?
There was nothing for them now. But
ifShirley only knew his history, only could
understand how he had struggled against
fate, she might be not so hard. There
might be a little less suffering for them
both. If he could have her alone, and
tell her, she would be gentler. Nay, he
might even hope to be forgiven at last.
But she had willed it that he should speak
to her here, and sneak he would.
So there, in the wretched waiting room,
he narrated his miserable story, not ahating
one iot. He told her of the fire, of his
twin boys, how strangely he had LOST
them, how he bad searched the world oveI
for them. He told her, too, of the devilisE
suspicion that had been set afhoat by his
wife's mother, and how at last all men
turned against him.
wherever my name was heard" hG
said, that vile SANDER followed me, till il
drove me to desperation. | went away where
no one knew me. l changed my name, III
hope to find some peace. / was wrong. ]
should have stayed there, in that very spot,
and faced my enemies, and lived it down,
though l died of starvation.
Eyes, that is what you should have
DONE" said Shirley.
But / did not. There was no one to turn
to. had no friend. | did not know. ]
came to Linwood. In your happy home ]
met your father-and you. 1t was like
PAluulcC W LiN, dANCl Nv Nv Il a huONu.
/ was drawn to you first by your intel.
lectual gifts, greater than l had believed
could be in n woman. You liked me, too,
you know that You fingered about me
with your light hearted, sunny nature,
your sweet, frank ways, month after
month. And then before / knew il, heaven
forgive me! l loved you. How 1 loved
YOU, ever them"
"Yet you deceived me-" said Shir-
lev, mournfully. 81 would have died for
you and you deceived me-"
"Icould not tell you that horrible story
how could /? If you had known it,
you, too, might have turned against me.
That was exactly what l could not bear.
l read You like an open book, Shirley
You. the soul of purity and truth. You
could not have disguised your feelings il
you had tried. read that you were begin.